


I Got A Fighter Jet

by unevenfootsteps



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, also louis and danny kiss, lots of kisses, there's some weed smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:51:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unevenfootsteps/pseuds/unevenfootsteps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny is Zayn's home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Got A Fighter Jet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hostagesfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/gifts).



> ~1.7k | Well, it's been a year and some months since I've written something, and this is what comes out. It's long overdue for several people, and I hope you like it. Thank you to those who reread it and helped me shaped it into what it is, as small as it is. | I'm so sorry for the delay, general flop of this gift, S & P, I hope you forgive me, or that you enjoy it. I hope you all do.  
> Also, this is just for fun. Zayn belongs to himself and Syco and four little boys with greedy hands. Also, please don't show this to anyone involved in the fic, thank you. None of the characters portrayed in this fic are meant to be taken as how they are. It's creative interpretation.

  
_or, do you not think so far, ahead?_  
 _'cause i've been thinking 'bout forever._  
\- _thinkin' 'bout you_ , frank ocean.

 

There are so many moments in his life when Zayn could think of the first time he’s kissed Danny. 

When he was fifteen with his hair buzzed on both sides, clutching his backpack tightly on the way home, walking with his head down. He remembers what his father had told him, what he said about men who don’t understand the concept of good in those who are wrongly accused as villains.

But, that’s besides the point, really. He can remember kissing Danny when he was safe inside his room, where men didn’t care to watch him, and he didn’t have to worry about good or bad. Where the dirty magazines were kept under his bed, and his video games were never turned off. He can remember pressing Danny down in the bed, when Danny’s nose was crusted in blood and two of his fingers were bandaged together. 

Zayn can remember the feeling of rough bandages on his tiny back, when Danny pressed into him as Zayn arched down into him, something akin to instinctual. He can remember the tiny brush of stubble across his thinning cheeks that made him yearn in his chest for being older than he was. For wanting to know as much as Danny had in the space of years that pushed between him. 

He can remember Danny asking, _are you sure about this, Zed?_ all quiet assurance with his gentle hands and blunt nails. Zayn can remember nodding, he can--can remember the space between looking up at Danny and suddenly getting engulfed in the hot heat.

It felt like he was touching the sun.

It felt like flying just as much as it felt like drowning.

*

There are other times, in the space of dreams and half constructed smoke canvases with joints burnt into the carpet of hotel rooms. There was a time where Zayn had seen Louis and Danny kiss, when they were on the brink of something too big. When they were crawling the steps to God’s own throne to push him off and take his place, but Zayn remembers.

Remembers Louis laughing, and all the sound had died down and the black spots of ash in the fine plush hotel carpet stopped looking so menacing and offered a comfort he didn’t know he wanted when he saw Danny’s hands slide down Louis’ back and press into him. 

It was like having an outer body experience, only Zayn watched on and felt like it was him kissing Danny. He closed his eyes and could remember when he was fifteen, shy and unpracticed. 

_Have you kissed someone before?_ Zayn wanted to ask, Bambi eyes closed as he felt teeth pull blood out of his lip. _Were they better than me?_

But, Zayn is eighteen now, when he opens his eyes. His rib cage is tight as the sound is rushing around him, pushing him to sit up straight. Louis is gone. Danny is looking at him.

“What were you thinking about?” Danny asks, voice soft and dark, like it always is. It feels like a space Zayn can sleep in, where he can unzip this person he’s shaped to become and lay naked and let himself bleed out and become new.

“Nothing,” Zayn answers, finger digging into the ashed spot next to him. “Did he kiss as well as I did?”

Danny laughs, husky. It sends a flare up Zayn’s spine. “No, _Mahiya_ , no one kisses as well as you do.”

Zayn dreams of Danny pushing him underwater. Leading him to the darkness where he can sleep. _I am good enough to drown with you_ , he thinks, and in his dream, Danny never lets go of his hand. 

They both drown together.

* 

When Zayn is nearly nineteen, the divide between This Life and That Life is almost too much for him to jump safely in between. Bradford isn’t sacred to him anymore, not when the men who sneered at him as he walked home have changed to girls who scream and ask for his autograph. 

It’s another thing to come home and be greeted by kisses of four women who have taught him to speak with respect and a man who has told him to keep his head down and be quiet. It’s different when he’s sat between Danny and Ant, and this time, there’s a hand coiled around his thigh. 

He’s used to touch. Can catalogue the touches of his boys with eyes closed, but this touch--Danny’s touch--will always be shiny and tender, like his fingertips are brushing over a raw nerve. Zayn thinks of how many bones have broken underneath Danny’s touch, how many times his knuckles have splintered and reformed to do the same thing, over and over. 

Zayn spends dinner breaking the tender bones of the chicken he’s eating from. Wonders how Danny would disassemble him, put him to ease. Let him calm his breathing and hide away the cigarettes that are used to calm down a frantic panic that is a permanent state for him. 

He wants to ask if Danny will be careful with him, but he already knows the answer. Knows when Danny’s fingers press into the gaps of his knees, filling him up with something that is equally painful and equally compassionate as always. He stops breaking the bones of his chicken, and smiles when his mother asks if he would like seconds.

*  
Later that night, Danny takes Zayn apart. Splits the boy from One Direction away from the boy from Bradford down the middle, clean cut. Zayn imagines Danny’s hands bloody when he clutches his cheeks and kisses him desperately.

He wants to ask Danny to hide him underneath the bed like the dirty magazines that used to hide in the dark corners. He wants to tell Danny to lie when someone asks if he’s seen Zayn, shake his head with his broken nose, and tangle his ever healing hands and refuse to let Zayn run.

Zayn hooks his arms under Danny’s armpits, nails seeping into skin that has turned pink like candy film and thinks of the anchors at the bottom of the ocean, forgotten and rusting away. He asks Danny to be careful, and closes his eyes and engulfs himself in the bleeding red heat that shines like the sun.

*

Zayn had refused to bring Danny along the first time they went on tour. The night was filled with this certain cold, with Danny and Zayn sleeping back to back. 

It had been selfish, to keep Danny away. It had been selfish to cut his lull of a voice with a sharp no, and to match his eye like he had enough power. He had almost expected Danny to press and press, but he forgot that not everyone was like the four boys. Not everyone walked past boundaries carefully set and crushed them to dust. 

Zayn broke the silence in the morning, when they were sharing black tea and toasted buttered on one side. Danny was feeding the dog when Zayn shyly said, “I don’t want them to know about you.”

“Who?” Danny asked. There was no trace of anger, red and thin like the blood that sometimes seeped out of his nose late at night in the dry winter. “The boys? They already know me.”

“No.” Zayn placed the warm tea on the counter, rubbed his fingertips together. “The world--everyone who knows me, they could know you, too. I don’t want that, do you understand? It’s selfish, but I--”

“I understand.” Danny cut through, looking at him. Zayn looked back at him, before saying, “good” and going back to the bedroom, slipping inside of the heat that Danny’s body had still left from hours before. 

He woke up warm, too. Long, healing hands wrapped around his chest and lips pressed against his neck. 

*

“You’ll rule the world one day,” Danny whispers, in the space of their bodies. Zayn wants to paint the constellations of Danny’s skin, wants to put them both in the stars. _Lovers who defied it All_ , he would like to call themselves. Likes the trembling sense of rebellion.

“No,” Zayn answers in a whisper just as quiet. There are fans singing outside, in the bleak dark of the summer. “I don’t like when you talk to me like I’m not real.”

“I never do that.” Danny presses a thumb deep into the plum of a bruise over the heart on Zayn’s hip. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Zayn means to say, _I’m scared._ He wants to say, _I hate when you look at me and see the person that you’re not supposed to._ He wants to ask, _do you remember kissing me when I was fifteen?_

Danny’s fingers trail up Zayn’s chest until his fingertips are touching his throat. “Fine, we don’t have to talk about it, but I’m proud of you, Zed.”

“I know,” Zayn mumbles, watches Danny’s eyes hood gently as the vibrations rumble under his fingertips. “Fuck me until you stop thinking about it, yeah?”

*

Danny kisses Zayn the day he leaves, back to the life that Zayn craves deep in his bones. The boys are yelling outside the hotel room, banging of his door and telling them to hurry up. 

“We’ll miss everything because of you!” Louis yells, but he sounds far away, like someone is pulling him away.

Danny’s lips are soft, teeth pulling Zayn’s lip until it’s plump and swelling. He feels like drowning, like kicking the stars to the ground and running into the ink black and exploding into the void to take up the empty vastness they’ve torn away.

“I’ll miss you,” Zayn whispers, into the space of their lips. 

“Mm,” Danny hums, pressing a kiss that sends a shiver of red up Zayn’s spine. “I’ll be home, waiting for you.”

_Me_ , Zayn thinks. _The real me, not the one with the kingdom, or the one who has broken records set by men too old to care._

Zayn kisses him again, hands in his lap, eyes closed. 

It feels like drowning. 

It feels like burning in the red, hot sun. 

It feels like coming home. 


End file.
